


Intertwined

by theriveroflight



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Miraculous, Angst, F/M, Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Police Brutality, Protests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23260783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theriveroflight/pseuds/theriveroflight
Summary: Just listen, and judge me, for what you think I'm worth.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 15
Kudos: 27
Collections: March 2020 - Music





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the March 2020 exchange on the ML Fanfiction Discord, invite in end notes. I was partnered with Seren/Neres on Discord, who requested Ladynoir or Marichat. The theme for this month's exchange was songs/music, so every participant sent in a song for the other to write to. The song I got is "They'll Like Me When I'm Sick" by Flatsound. I suggest you listen to it while you read.
> 
> This story is based off of the modern-day French protests, with some inspiration from the Hong Kong protests.
> 
> TW: Major character death, guns, police, pre-story Lukanette
> 
> Edit (6/23/2020): In light of the recent movements I would just like to say that black lives always have and always will matter. This is a story where the main tragedy is directly caused by police brutality. There are no excuses, and the only good cops are the ones that quit or the ones that are fictional.

He meets her at a protest.

She’s bright with pigtails in red ribbons and dressed in red and black - aside from the yellow vest of the protestors. She has a red mask on, one that seems like a type that you’d purchase from stores - a domino mask. It conceals the skin around her eyes and above her nose, and makes her just mysterious enough to be intriguing.

(Never mind that he has a similar outfit to conceal his own identity. Plastic store-bought mask, all black - save for the safety vest, and a cat-ear headband. He mussed his hair a bit before leaving.)

“Hey,” he yells over the noise. She’s chanting a slogan.

The girl glares at him. “Who are you?”

“Somebody just like you.”

They hear the sound of breaking glass and screams nearby.

He pulls her away with him.

“What’s your name?” he asks as they run.

“Call me Ladybug. You?”

Her English “Ladybug” is accented - typical French.

“Chat. Chat Noir.”

“The James Bond type, eh?” she asks, and he smiles.

They pull aside into the nearest alley - away from the gradually dispersing crowd.

“Technically, it would be ‘Noir, Chat Noir’ - if I were doing that. Nice to meet you, Red Lady.”

She glares. He rolls his eyes.

“I’m here because I’m going to uni here in the fall. Fashion school. And my parents run a business in the city. Rent’s getting higher with taxes, and I’m afraid they won’t be able to send me to uni.”

“I’m also going to uni in the fall, but overseas. US. I want to study physics, though I’ll probably end up doing business.”

It’s kind of ironic, because he’s the kind of person that the people here would hate. But he (as Adrien) isn’t important. It’s the choices he makes here and now that matter. It’s how he helps them fight that matters. The police are brutalizing the protestors - not to say that they haven’t struck back, but protest has to be a violent act just to have an effect.

He won’t get caught. And he thinks that Ladybug is a like-minded student with a spirit for revolution and enough smarts to take her anywhere.

“Business major?” She scoffs. “It’s not worth your money. Whatever you have.”

He feels a bit ashamed. “Yeah. But my parents want me to be better off than they ever were.”

It’s a bold-faced lie.

“Police!” someone yells from nearby as they talk. “Scatter!”

They split up and run. He looks at her, and takes off the yellow vest as he heads into a further arrondissement. The vest is just a marker - something that will make him stick out against the city as “of the riotous.”

He takes out the empty knapsack from under his black leather jacket and stuffs the vest, mask, and ears in.

Time to go home.

* * *

She’s yelling along with the crowd, the energy and tension high. And then all of a sudden, this boy in black and leather and the bright safety vest approaches her. He has a mask just like hers over his face, and startlingly bright green eyes.

“Hey.” And she doubts he means it in a flirtatious sort of way because protests are not the place to meet people. But she still glares nonetheless, just on principle alone.

“Who are you?” she snaps out at him. Because she’s never seen him before - not at the protests, not anywhere. He could be someone she knows outside, but both of them are pretending to be someone else - anyone else besides themselves. The mask makes it easy to tell.

“Somebody just like you.”

Right after that, some glass breaks nearby. Someone screams. The crowd scatters, and he drags her away with him.

(She could easily resist. She doesn’t.)

“What’s your name?” the stranger yells.

“Call me Ladybug,” she answers. Someone’s already called her “little ladybug” once. She says it in English, to be a bit _more._ Her English sucks - or, at least, her spoken English sucks. “You?”

“Chat,” he answers. “Chat Noir.”

“The James Bond type, eh?” she answers. Marinette feels almost...drawn in by the gleam in his eyes, his demeanor that almost makes her want to come closer. They turn almost in synchronization aside into an alley.

“Technically, it would be ‘Noir, Chat Noir’ - if I were doing that. Nice to meet you, Red Lady.”

She doesn’t exactly appreciate the nickname, but he rolls his eyes at her glare, and she knows.

“I’m here because I’m going to uni here in the fall. Fashion school. And my parents run a business in the city. Rent’s getting higher with taxes, and I’m afraid they won’t be able to send me to uni,” she explains. It’s a bit true.

“I’m also going to uni in the fall, but overseas. US. I want to study physics, though I’ll probably end up doing business.”

Oh. A business major. Just the kind of people that she wouldn’t expect to find wearing one of these vests, being one of them. “Business major?” She scoffed. “It’s not worth your money. Whatever you have.”

“Yeah. But my parents want me to be better off than they ever were.”

Oh. There’s a _backstory_ to Mr. Future Business Major. 

She hears from nearby the call: “Police! Scatter!”

Nobody wants to get arrested today, it seems. The bravest of the brave stay - but she can’t afford bail. Her family can’t afford to bail her out, or pay the legal fees for a trial. She splits off away from him.

She’s running back home, but makes a stop in the park to blend in with some people.

She takes off the vest, and mask, and now she’s just a girl in red.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, student, fashion designer, and occasional protester.

* * *

The next time he goes out, he makes a quick sign with some cardboard and a Sharpie.

(Inside his bag is his burner phone - for the people he wants to meet without his father’s knowledge.)

* * *

She goes out for her next protest a few days later.

In between, she makes a sign - elaborate, and beautiful, and using every bit of her design skills.

She brings her phone, but turns off the location.

* * *

He spots her holding up a sign. It’s a beautiful sign in all multicolor, and she raises it in rhythm with her chants.

He’s doing the same, with the flimsy cardboard and black Sharpie lettering. His handwriting is pretty neat - but he makes it a little more purposefully messy, disguises it a bit.

They lock eyes from across the street.

Chanting in unison with the crowd. The energy is uplifting, and he remembers why he started in the first place.

Not because of a girl in red that calls herself Ladybug and has occupied his mind.

* * *

She spots Chat Noir out of the corner of her eye on the right. The cardboard sign he’s waving, compared to the picket she has in hers.

But she keeps her focus ahead as they march.

(She can’t help but briefly steal a glance - but it turns out to be much longer than a glance as his eyes find hers.)

Rallies are living and breathing. She can feel the unity of the people here, feel the hope in the air - and the anger.

And she remembers why she’s here.

It’s not because of a boy in black that pretends to be a cat sometimes.

* * *

Eventually, he has to leave the march. Even in summer, there are certain things he has to do before he leaves for America.

He taps her on the shoulder. She stops shouting, but keeps waving the sign.

“Chat,” she says.

“Nice to see you again, milady.” He smiles at her.

“Don’t put on a front.” She frowns. “It’s not a good look on you.”

He doesn’t know what drives him to say it. “Neither is that scowl on your face.”

She pulls back. “Are you _trying_ to flirt with me?”

The possibility didn’t even occur to him that it could be considered flirtatious. The possibility that _yes, he does want to flirt with her_ is just coming 

“Uh. Not really. Unless you want me to be?” he offers sheepishly.

She rolls her eyes. “No.” But the word trembles, is more drawn out than it needs to be.

They’re still holding up their signs, but it almost seems like they’re a bubble of peace in the midst of the flowing current of people.

They head out of the crowds together by mutual agreement - though neither of them say any words.

* * *

She turns to face Chat, a bit frustrated, but not overly so.

“Chat.”

“Good to see you again, milady.”

The pet name (she mentally wrinkles her nose in disgust) rubs her a bit the wrong way - but she kind of likes it. But it feels like he’s being ingenuine.

“Don’t put on a front,” she responds. “It’s not a good look on you.”

He splutters for a bit, but ultimately rebutts her argument with, “Neither is that scowl on your face.”

She finds that they’ve been getting closer to each other - and then realizes that she should probably back up all of a sudden. She does. “Are you _trying_ to flirt with me?”

_Because if so, I feel….charmed, almost._

“Uh. Not really. Unless you want me to be?”

She rolls her eyes almost as a reflex, but she’s lying when she says no - and it shows in the tremble of her voice.

(She hates lying. It’s a necessity sometimes - the Ladybug persona just proves that. It still hurts her to lie. But that’s the nature of lies - they hurt everyone involved.)

The crowd flows around them, as if they’re a rock in the middle of a stream. The way she waves her sign has grown more and more half-hearted.

As if something else is guiding the two of them, they head away to somewhere that will keep their secrets more than the crowd of strangers around them.

* * *

He and Ladybug catch themselves in an alley again. She looks towards the fire escape. They climb towards the roof, running up the stairs.

She yells back, “Catch me if you can!” and it’s _on._

They both bolt up the flights of stairs, the escape creaking under them, and though they are now progressing quickly they go a bit more softly to avoid causing it to crash out from under them.

Although Ladybug got a bit of a head start in his shock, the race ends in a tie.

She looks over at him, her blue eyes sparkling despite her outward exhaustion.

“Good job,” she says, offering a fist.

He bumps it, after realising her intent.

“Maybe we don’t have to always get away from the crowd every time we meet?”

“I don’t know, Chat. But maybe we can stay in contact, and we’ll see about that?” She lifts out her phone from a pocket.

“Sure.” He brings out his, and takes down Ladybug’s contact information. He saves her as a single ladybug emoji, and sends off a text to her.

She smiles when she sees it.

“Saved.”

She texts him back with a cat emoji.

He smiles at her.

Her phone vibrates in her hand. She looks down at it, and sighs.

“I have to go, Chat. Until we meet again?”

It sounds like an offering - but he hopes it’s a promise.

“Of course, milady.” He’ll make the promise in return.

They have to see each other again.

* * *

It’s another few weeks of near-constant texting before both of them can really make it to see each other again. There are a few false starts where both of them have a date set up, and then something comes up last minute, which sets them back further.

No marches, no protests -- just the two of them, on the roof of the same apartment complex they escaped to last time.

Marinette loves the marches, loves fighting for what she thinks is right - but it’s hard to stay with Chat during them. She’s attended a few since that rooftop conversation, but it’s not getting better. In fact, it’s only getting worse.

(She feels _something_ for Chat. Something verging on romantic.)

(It’s hard to tell, especially since her only romantic relationship was healthy, but kind of a trainwreck because she was never really sure of her feelings.)

She’ll bring her guitar to the meeting. See how he reacts to it. It was a gift from Luka, back when they were together - one year anniversary, with the promise that he would teach her.

She’s been tempted to throw it out before, burn it to flames - but no musical instrument deserves that sort of treatment.

So she puts it in its case.

For closure. And for Chat.

* * *

The summer day is hotter than usual, but they’re meeting on a roof - hopefully it’ll be cooler than it is at ground level.

He feels a buzz in his phone as he slowly ascends up the fire escape to the roof.

A text from Ladybug - she’s just left her house, she’ll be at their rendezvous location in a bit.

He sits on the roof. He’s brought some snacks - maybe he should eat.

But he won’t.

She ascends the staircase with a grace that he can only hope to replicate someday. She has something strange slung across her back, and it isn’t the usual red that she’s typically seen in. The thing is black and blue, and it seems a bit weird for her to be carrying it.

“Sorry,” she says. “I had to detune this for transport, didn’t want it to break.”

He sees it for what it is now - an instrument case.

She unzips and pulls out a guitar.

“I figured...I don’t know. We could jam, maybe. I think it would be fun.”

She seems kind of reluctant to say it, almost as though there is a reason she brought it - he just doesn’t know what it is.

He plays the piano anyways, so it’s not like it matters.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m not much of a singer.”

“Neither am I. I’m more of a pianist myself, though it’s been a while.” He asked his father to let him quit piano - lycee work was getting to be a lot, especially as he started taking fencing and modeling more seriously, as well as other courses.

And if he’s being truly honest, he was never really a _prodigy_ at music. He’s good at it, but it’s not the thing he was most passionate about.

She strongly strums a few chords, but then just went to just plucking at a single string.

“This was a gift from my ex-boyfriend,” she starts. He looks over at her, a little bit confused.

“I think,” she continues, still strumming gently on the guitar, “you learn something new with each relationship that ends. It doesn’t matter what kind of relationship, I think all of them can provide some sort of perspective and some sort of learning.” She strikes a dissonant chord. “My ex-boyfriend taught me two things: how to play the guitar, and how to love myself.”

“What do you think you’ll learn from this one?” he asks. Just out of curiosity - because it’s not going to last forever, the two of them, and he knows it.

There’s an impending deadline ahead of them, the day he goes away to the United States.

She stops playing. It feels like silence, even though the bustle of the city still surrounds them.

“How to love someone else,” she answers, after a bout of the roaring silence.

He moves closer to her, rests his head on her shoulder - even though she’s shorter than him.

She takes the guitar back up, strumming out a random melody.

There’s a peace within them that he can imagine won’t last forever, just from the tumultuous way that they met each other.

* * *

“This was a gift from my ex-boyfriend,” Marinette says all of a sudden, speaking with words.

Luka was always fond of using music to tell a story - but Marinette’s always been more a fan of visuals. Words are a compromise.

Chat looks over at her. He seems a bit confused about why she would mention him.

“I think you learn something new with each relationship that ends.” It’s a belief she’s carried with her since her main mentor died. “It doesn’t matter what kind of relationship, I think all of them can provide some sort of perspective and some sort of learning.” She accidentally hits a dissonant chord, wincing slightly as she does, and continues on the previous track. “My ex-boyfriend taught me two things: how to play the guitar, and how to love myself.”

Those are two completely different things, but both of them are equally true.

“What do you think you’ll learn from this one?”

Chat seems rather astute - she knows that it’ll end someday, knew from the moment he said he was going to a university in America after the summer, that this summer will someday fade into just a dream. But she still stops playing as she thinks.

“How to love someone else,” she ultimately answers. It’s a confession. A declaration, if she’ll be so bold.

He moves over, rests his head on her shoulder. It feels like he’s reassuring her. She can’t tell if it’s because he’s _rejecting_ her or because he loves her too.

But she starts playing again.

Eventually her fingers find the first riff that Luka taught her - ‘Kitty Section’s’ first single, the guitar solo he played. She plays it a bit more melancholy than he ever did, and finishes it with a few resolving chords.

Resolution.

“I don’t want to say ‘I love you,’” Chat suddenly says. “Because it’s too early for that. But I want to give things a try. Do you?”

“I-I could do that. I could give things a try, whatever that means.”

* * *

Whatever that means.

Apparently, that means:

The texts only get more frequent, and it starts annoying photographers, who hear his phone buzz. He tells them that he told people that he couldn’t text back until he got a break, and to not expect anything.

Ladybug sends him heart emojis and loving quotes and things that imply her devotion to him. He returns every bit of it.

It means that when they protest together, they hold hands, and signs made by Ladybug. She’s a true artist, and knows how to get her point across.

It means more rooftop dates. Ladybug starts teaching him to play the guitar, imparting the knowledge.

It means occasional phone calls that last for hours.

And though he calls himself by a different name with Ladybug, he feels like Ladybug’s the only person that knows the real person that he is.

* * *

He said that they would give things a try.

Apparently, that means texting frequently enough that her friends start questioning her over it. Reassuring Chat that it’s okay that he isn’t always around, because having a job (even with odd hours) is stressful. Making signs for the marches they attend together. Rooftop dates where she starts teaching him the guitar. The phone calls that last far, far longer than they should.

And though she uses a pseudonym with Chat, it feels more genuine to be with him. Almost as though him not knowing Marinette Dupain-Cheng means that she doesn’t need to meet the expectations lording over her as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

* * *

Sometimes, protests go sour. It’s the reality. It’s part of the reason why they’re there. (Or, at least why he’s there.)

He hears the sound of a gunshot, and all of a sudden it falls apart as Ladybug tackles him to the ground. But he sees the way that the bullet’s gone through her clothes, the blood soaking into her clothes.

“Call 112!” he shouts, digging for his own phone and cursing as he can’t find it.

He rolls her over so she’s laying flat on the ground. A crowd’s started to circle around them. 

Ladybug lets out a curse.

“That’s the best you can do right now?” he laughs mirthlessly. “You’re bleeding out because of stray gunfire, and that’s the best you can do?”

She almost laughs, but winces. “Hurts.”

“Focus on that, milady. I need you to stay awake. Please.” Someone parts the crowd.

“I’m a registered nurse.” The person doesn’t look it, not wearing the scrubs typical of nursehood, but he’ll believe it. “You’ve done a good job. Miss, can I take off your jacket?”

“Whatever you need to do,” she answers. The nurse manages to take off the jacket, but the shirt seems plastered to her with blood and sweat.

He feels on the constant verge of crying.

The nurse says, “I’m going to have to lift you up to look over at you,” and does so.

“The bullet is still in there,” the nurse declares. “It’s stuck in the liver.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Ladybug replies. She’s still so brilliant after all this time.

He hears someone talking.

“...at the march, second arrondissement...yeah, she got shot. Hit by a bullet…No, I don’t know who fired...I don’t know who she is either, but she’s hurt and someone who was with her asked someone to call you. Please send an ambulance.”

Adrien sags with relief. Someone.

“Unfortunately, if that ambulance doesn’t come soon, you’re going to die.”

“I didn’t think I would die so soon,” she says. “I didn’t think…”

“No, milady,” he hysterically screams, “you aren’t going to die today!” His voice cracks in a few places.

“It’s okay, Chat. I just...I don’t know what you can say to my parents. I don’t know what’s going to happen. The passcode to the phone is the day we first met.”

They both know it by heart.

He snatches the jacket from the nurse and grabs her phone.

“Ladybug, please. This can’t be it.”

“Chat, it’s not worth it.”

“It’s _always_ worth keeping you alive. You’re the brightest star of my life, Ladybug.”

“I could’ve fallen in love with you, Chat. I think…”

The sound of a siren drowns out her final words.

“Goodbye,” she says, and Ladybug’s blue eyes close.

* * *

She sees the bullet before she hears the gunshot. It’ll hit Chat. She can’t let that happen. She dives to tackle him away, but her reaction is too slow.

The bullet hits her in the side.

At first, it doesn’t hurt very much. Adrenaline covers for a lot. And then it starts to burn. Chat gets out from under her and that’s when the pain starts to kick in.

Getting shot feels like getting burnt, or having a really awful blister. It burns inside her. The bullet didn’t come out the other side, and she can feel the shocks traveling through her body.

Chat’s shouting, though she can’t tell what. He flips her onto her back, and she lets out a curse as pain goes through her.

“That’s the best you can do right now?” He laughs, but it’s hollow and empty - nothing like what she’s heard before. “You’re bleeding out because of stray gunfire, and that’s the best you can do?”

She’s tempted to laugh, but it hurts to try. “Hurts.”

“Focus on that, milady.” She isn’t a masochist. It’s not _enjoyable_ or anything. It’s agony. “I need you to stay awake. Please.”

If she closes her eyes, she hopes she won’t open them again. It feels like a lot. She doesn’t want to survive this. Surviving this means that she has to deal with this hazy summer coming to an end, the summer of him and her and everything between them.

A nurse parts through the crowd and takes care of her briefly. She can barely focus on anything that isn’t the hole burning inside her stomach.

“I didn’t think I would die so soon.” She’s always been aware of her mortality. She wanted to make a difference before she died. But maybe dying will be her difference. “I didn’t think…”

Chat yells at her, telling her that he refuses to let her die today. It’s like something out of a cliche scene in an action movie or something.

“It’s okay, Chat.” And all of a sudden, she’s aware. She has so little time left, and so many more words to say. “I just...I don’t know what you can say to my parents. I don’t know what’s going to happen. The passcode to the phone is the day we first met.”

She knows that he’ll remember.

“Ladybug, please. This can’t be it.”

“It’s not worth it.” All this trouble, all this ache to keep her alive. And besides, if she dies she won’t have to forever pay off a debt.

“It’s _always_ worth keeping you alive. You’re the brightest star of my life, Ladybug.” It feels like he’s telling her that he loves her, without saying those words. And it’s almost ironic that it’s only now that he wants to tell her.

“I could have fallen in love with you, Chat.” It’s time to say the words. “I think I loved you for a longer time than I’m willing to say.” But the sound of an ambulance siren has drowned out her words.

“Goodbye,” she exhales out as Chat leans in. She closes her eyes. Rest at last…

* * *

The paramedics start taking her away.

He follows. But they take her pulse again when they arrive at the ambulance, and declare that it’s stopped.

Ladybug - or, Marinette Dupain-Cheng - dies at 3:48 PM on August 9th.

He still has her phone.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, news stories reporting on the death of Marinette Dupain-Cheng come out all over, enquiring to the mysterious identity of the person she referred to as “Chat” in the recordings. The speculation on their amorous relationship. The police officer who fired the stray shot apologizing, saying that he had gone for his Taser and pulled out his gun, and didn’t realise until it was too late for Marinette.

Her parents ask him (as Chat) to speak at the funeral via a news broadcast.

“Chat, if you’re watching this, Marinette’s funeral is on August 12th. We would like it if you could speak there,” her mother says. “Thank you.”

It’s the day before he leaves for the US. But he’ll show up nonetheless.

* * *

“I knew Marinette as Ladybug. We had a relationship for...a while before she died. We met at the beginning of this summer in the same situation she died in, fighting for ourselves and the people around us and the future. Ladybug was a kind, upstanding person. She always followed her moral compass. That brought her to the protests.”

“She told me the day we started dating that with every relationship that ends, one learns something new. She said it didn’t matter what kind of relationship. She treated it like a philosophy. And we both knew our relationship was going to end eventually - I’m leaving for university tomorrow to settle in. That deadline loomed ahead of us. And I asked her what she thought she might learn from the relationship between us. She told me that she thought maybe she’d learn how to love someone else.”

“What’s my point here? Marinette didn’t teach me love - but she did teach me something else. She taught me to follow my heart,” he says. “And I loved her. Ladybug was my home, more than any other place or person. I won’t forget Ladybug and how she changed my life. I won’t forget what I learned from our time together. And I hope Marinette’s presence in each of your lives taught you something, too. She treated relationships like an experience, like something that she could learn and benefit from - but she didn’t take them lightly. We were never really boyfriend and girlfriend, but we were dating.”

“I don’t think that Ladybug and Marinette had much of a disconnect. I’ve heard from the other people that spoke here, and their version of Marinette and how I knew her as Ladybug are strikingly similar.”

“Ladybug and I may have been doomed from the start to eventually draw to a close, but it was still far too soon for her to die. She lit up my life, and from what I’ve heard, she’s lifted up everyone she was with. May she rest well, wherever she lies.”

He walks off quietly, to a bit of quiet clapping.

“Chat!” he hears someone call after the funeral. “Wait!”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Luka. Marinette and I were friends, but we grew a bit more distant after she got out of lycee.”

“Ah,” he says. “Friends, or _friends?”_

“We dated for almost two years. I gave her a guitar for our one-year anniversary, and then taught her to play.”

The pieces start to line up. Luka’s the ex-boyfriend Ladybug mentioned.

“She said she learned two things from you,” he explains. “She learned how to love herself and how to play the guitar.”

“One of those is something everyone should learn,” Luka replies. “The other’s still useful, but not as much.”

They both laugh.

“Good luck with university, Chat,” he says.

“Good luck with your band.”

And so he turns and leaves, parting ways with the shell of one of the few people that ever truly knew him.

**Author's Note:**

> [ Join the ML Fanfiction Server!](https://discord.gg/mlfanworks)
> 
> I also made a [ moodboard](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/393914188659163156/691261815488774214/PSX_20200306_212335.jpg) for this fic, if you want to have a look.
> 
> Talk to me elsewhere:
> 
> Main Tumblr -- alto-tenure  
> Writing Tumblr -- beunforgotten  
> Twitter -- riverofliight


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